


The Door

by universalworst



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Gen, Minor Character Death, Modern Era, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalworst/pseuds/universalworst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon wished Dad would just open up the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Open the Door

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU: The Greyjoy Rebellion.

Theon wished Dad would just open up the door.  
  
"Police! We have you surrounded! Step outside with your hands in the air!"  
  
He remembers retching in the bathroom, disoriented from the flashing lights that glared in through the blinds. He'd never been so terrified in his life.  
  
Asha was there too, whispering for Theon to get up and hide with her. All around the house, their father and their brothers ran, collecting weapons and other strange items from drawers, shelves, even air ducts. Balon passed by the bathroom and hissed at his youngest child to shut up.  
  
"Go outside, Dad! Please!" Theon sobbed. "Open the door!"  
  
The boy was silenced by a smack across the face. Balon squatted down close to him and spat, "You shut up and grow a pair." A moment later, he was up again, shouting at his older sons.  
  
After some time, Asha managed to drag Theon from the bathroom and up the stairs, into a closet. He clung to her like a baby monkey to its mother. She hugged him back.  
  
"You have five minutes to evacuate before further measures are taken! Step outside with your hands in the air!"  
  
 _Please let Dad go outside. Please let him give up._ Uncle Victarion went to prison once; he got out quickly, and Dad said the Family had connections in the 'system', whatever that meant.  
  
"Four minutes! Step outside with your hands in the air!"  
  
"Why isn't he going?" Theon whispered to Asha.  
  
"He's a _Greyjoy_ ," Asha whispered back. "I think he's in trouble for something real bad this time. He won't be taken without a fight."  
  
"They're gonna kill him, and Rodrik and Maron!"  
  
"No they're not."  
  
"They're gonna kill us too!"  
  
"Shut up, Theon!"  
  
Asha was crying by then, and she pulled his curly hair and covered his mouth, wrestling him into a headlock. Theon struggled, wanting badly to bite his sister's hand, but he didn't. He simply dissolved into silent tears, resting his head on Asha's knee.  
  
"Three minutes! Step outside with your hands in the air!"  
  
That's when the gunshots started. Even Asha screamed as the noises cracked through the house. Downstairs, Rodrik shouted a curse, mostly muffled by the persistent rattling of a semiautomatic weapon firing round after round. Balon yelled even louder than his eldest, but his words were muffled too as glass shattered and the cacophony grew in volume and voices.  
  
Asha and Theon sat silently, after the initial shock of gunfire, seated side by side against the back of the closet. The thin slits in the closet door let the dizzying red, blue, and whitish lights peek in at the children on and off. Asha no longer had her hand over Theon's mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, reflecting the lights in translucent lines across her face.  
  
The gunfire ceased as soon as it started, but the noise continued. Police shouted, sirens wailed, and before either child knew what was happening, a sickening smoke began to fill the house. Theon squeezed his eyes shut... Why are they stinging?  
  
"What's going..." His attempt at questioning Asha ended in a few gasping coughs. She gave no response, instead hiding her face in her shirt. Theon did the same. It didn't help his eyes, but it made breathing a bit easier.  
  
Heavy feet stomped into the house, and distinct voices began to speak.  
  
"Clear!" one said.  
  
"Clear!"  
  
"All clear!"  
  
Theon cried, helplessly and pointlessly, face hidden in his shirt, as the intruders traversed the first floor of the home. It seemed to take them forever to travel each room.  
  
Then footsteps began to ascend the stairs.  
  
' _They're going to find us and shoot us_ ,' Theon thought. ' _I wish Dad had blown up the police station instead of the governor's car_.'  
  
"Clear!"  
  
"Clear!"  
  
Shaking with rage and terror, Theon pulled his face out from his shirt, teeth gritted. If he was going to die, he was going to stare at whoever shot him with a face so angry he'd have nightmares for the rest of his life.  
  
Heavy boots stepped closer to their hideout, stopping in front of the closet. The fear, the rage, the strobe effect of the lights outside, and the tear gas mixed together in a potent cocktail.  
  
Theon vomited down the front of his shirt.  
  
The closet door opened and a flashlight blinded both children immediately. Asha pulled her face out from her shirt, coughing and holding her hands out to block the light.  
  
They couldn't see who had found them, the flashlight rendering them temporarily blind, but a male voice called out, "Two minors in the closet; I think these are the two he mentioned."  
  
Two more figures approached the first. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Theon realized the men before them were armed with guns and wearing bulletproof vests and gas masks. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, too dizzy and frightened to speak.  
  
"Alright, both of you, stand up and put your hands on top of your heads. Right, like that. Ma'am, do like your brother is."  
  
Theon, who had obeyed without question, looked down at Asha. Her eyes were red from tears and the gas, and she shook with fury. "Where's my dad?!" she shouted, fists clenched. "Where are my older brothers?!"  
  
"Miss, stand up and put your hands on top of your head. We'll have someone talk to you soon. Come on... Atta girl. Just follow directions, and nobody's going to hurt you."  
  
The children were hurriedly escorted downstairs by two policemen. Theon was almost to the door when Asha screamed.  
  
As Theon turned his head to see what was wrong, someone began to pull him away, towards the door. But it was too late. Rodrik lied on the floor, mouth agape and his one remaining eye staring up at the ceiling, the other made into soup with a bullet, resting in a pool of his own blood.  
  
He knows he began to scream then; he recalls the sore throat he had for days after. But he couldn't recall what exactly he said. Maron's body lay facedown on the lawn, the grass around him stained with...something.  
  
Dad was in a police car.  
  
The flashing lights and screaming sirens seemed to go dull. Balon and his son made eye contact for just a moment before the man turned his head away, and a moment later, the police car took off.  
  
"Dad... Dad gave up," Asha said wearily from behind her brother.  
  
He gave up.  
  
Asha and Theon were taken to separate police cars. Theon expected to be handcuffed, but instead, the woman driving told him to buckle up. He sniffled and complied.  
  
He gave up...  
  
If Dad was going to give up... _why hadn't he just opened the door?_


	2. Close the Door

“Close the door behind you.”  
  
Theon obliged, pulling the heavy door shut. His gaze wandered over the linoleum floor, tiles reflecting the fluorescent lights above. Then he looked to the long mirror on the wall, intentionally avoiding eye contact with the old man seated at the table in the center of the room. He stepped forward, putting a hand on the easy chair that looked so out of place in this hard angled, hard surfaced room, but he didn’t sit.  
  
“Are they watching us on the other side?” he asked, eyes still fixed on the mirror. He’d seen cop shows before; he knew that was probably a window on the other side.  
  
The man chuckled. “No, no… We’re using an interrogation room because your sister and another family are in the offices we usually use for talking. Nobody’s watching.”  
  
Theon stared at the security camera in the upper corner of the room, behind the old man. “We have to have cameras in every room,” he explained gently, sensing the boy's next question. “They’re here to keep everyone safe.”  
  
“Where’s Asha?”  
  
“As I said, she’s speaking to someone in one of our offices.”  
  
“Why can’t we talk to people together?”  
  
“It’s important that we hear what each of you has to say individually.” The man organized a stack of papers as he spoke. “Why don’t you sit down? My name is Dr. Lucas.”  
  
“I’m Theon,” Theon mumbled in reply.  
  
“Are you hungry or thirsty, Theon? I can get you some pretzels, or water, or ginger ale…”  
  
“Ginger ale.”  
  
Dr. Lucas reached below the table and fumbled with a bag, pulling out a can of soda and pouring it into a plastic cup. Theon reached over and took the drink, mumbling a half-hearted thanks before sipping at it. It was warm. The doctor leaned back in his chair and pulled out a tape recorder. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Dr. Lucas seemed taken aback by this. “Why don’t you want me to record it, Theon?”  
  
“Because I hate you.”  
  
“I see.” The doctor’s words weren’t condescending, nor did he seem hurt. He was entirely impartial, or at least, that’s what his voice conveyed. Pulling a pad of paper and a pen from the disorganized pile beside him, he wrote something down and spoke again. “Why do you hate me?”  
  
“Because you work here, and you’re pretending to be my friend.”  
  
Dr. Lucas raised an eyebrow. “I never said that we were friends.”  
  
The boy scrunched his face slightly, annoyed. “You gave me soda and you’re acting all patient, like you want to help me.”  
  
“I do want to help you.”  
  
“No you don’t.”  
  
Dr. Lucas leaned forward, elbows on the table as he continued scribbling notes. “You don’t like me because I work for the police, is that right?”  
  
Theon sat sullenly. He wasn’t going to give this shrink the satisfaction of an affirmative answer.  
  
After a brief pause, Dr. Lucas adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Did you get much sleep last night?”  
  
“No.”  
  
He nodded, as if he expected that answer. “And how old are you, Theon?”  
  
“I’m nine-and-a-half.”  
  
“Do you know why your father was arrested?”  
  
Theon shrugged. “Probably for killing somebody or stealing something or blowing something up.”  
  
Dr. Lucas nodded again, with a bit less conviction. “Are you angry that officers arrested him?”  
  
“No,” Theon muttered, hands forming fists. “I’m angry because… I’m…” He looked up at Dr. Lucas, almost for guidance, but received none. Glaring down at his lap again, he shook his head, clenching his jaw. “I’m just angry.”  
  
“Are you also sad?”  
  
Theon glowered, fists clenching tighter. “Yes,” he said bitterly. “My brothers are dead.”  
  
“Are you scared?”  
  
This question stung him. The boy stood up, ignoring the tears that began to well in his eyes, slamming the ginger ale down on the table. “No,” he insisted, arms stiff at his sides. “I’m not scared!”  
  
“Calm down, Theon,” Dr. Lucas said softly, setting down his pen.  
  
Theon swallowed thickly and sat down, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I don’t wanna talk anymore,” he choked through his tears.  
  
Theon was escorted from the room, given a blanket and some more ginger ale, and taken back to the stupid children’s room, filled with baby toys and pictures of animals on the walls. He wanted to break every object in the room, but he screamed into a pillow instead. Where was Asha? He hadn’t been allowed to see her since they were taken away in separate police cars. He spilled his ginger ale all over the floor and threw the empty can across the room in a rage. A woman came in and cleaned it up. She didn’t speak, and Theon was glad for it.  
  
The screaming and wrath eventually dissolved to tearful hiccups, and Theon hid himself in the corner of the room, hugging the pillow he’d nabbed from the sofa. There were stuffed animals in the room, of course, but hugging one of those would be babyish. A pillow wasn’t much better, but it felt a bit more mature.  
  
He hated this place. He hated the police for doing all this, and for keeping him away from Asha. He hated the people who acted friendly towards him when he knew they didn't really care. He hated his dad for letting Rodrik and Maron die and then surrendering. He hated everything and everyone and he wished he could just drop dead. He’d drop dead, he thought, and then they’d all be sorry!  
  
“Theon?”  
  
The boy looked up suddenly, eyes and nose red, face streaked with tears. One of those social worker ladies he’d come to detest over the course of the days stood at the doorway. Beside her, a dark-haired man dressed in a shirt and tie looked down at him. Theon looked back down at the pillow, embarrassed to be caught crying. He sniffed and wiped his on the back of his hand.  
  
“Theon, this is Mr. Stark. He wanted to meet you.” The woman murmured then to the man. “We’ll be watching from outside. He’s very upset—”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“…Yes. Best of luck.”  
  
The social worker stepped back outside, and Mr. Stark stepped forward, closing the door behind him.


End file.
